


Kiss me like the train was about to depart

by Hoshisaki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Dirty Talk, Epistolary, Fluff, Humor, Longing, M/M, Missing Your Boyfriend, Muggle Traditions, Pure Blood Traditions, Trips to Muggle London, WAFF, White Peacocks, sexy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoshisaki/pseuds/Hoshisaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accompany these two love birds throughout their first Christmas Holidays. Two weeks to spend apart - don't laugh, it's not funny! It's serious business, missing your boyfriend like that. Go ahead, read it yourselves in Albus' and Scorpius' letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss me like the train was about to depart

**Kiss me like the train was about to depart**

 

*** 23rd December, folded notes ***  
Score, I got your note. Will find you behind the station building to say goodbye for the Christmas holidays. Al  
*  
Al. Meet me. Loo at end of train. In 15 minutes. Can't get enough of you when you kiss me like the train was about to depart. S.  
*  
Hey Score! No convenient sweets trolley for me to have my messages passed along during the train ride, so I'll put this in your robe pocket when I meet you. The gang and I will leave the train on the last door of the 2nd to last carriage. Hope to see you one last time before holidays begin. I love you. Al

*** 24th December, late morning ***  
Dearest Scorpius,  
thanks for your letter earlier today. (When did you get up to write it?) I'd never have thought to see your handwriting again so soon. I'm really happy. Imagine me blushing.  
As for your worries about the... encounter at King's Cross, nobody saw it was you who dragged me off to snog in that dark corner. I admit, I rather liked your urgent gestures, the forceful grip on my wrist and shoulder, those hasty kisses and touches. You mumbling those sweet words you utter so rarely. You getting all hot. You glaring daggers at the Muggles. You holding me like that.  
Afterwards I told Dad, I had checked out the Muggle shop that sells newspapers and books. He laughed and promised to take us on a trip, Grandpa and me. As a sort of Christmas present. You see, my grandfather loves Muggles and anything Muggle-related. He's kinda crazy about them.  
Not nearly as crazy as I am about you...  
Mum said, we'll spend 24th to 27th at the Burrow. Big family get-together. Granny insisted, she said. Even Uncles Bill and Charlie will come, so I'm pretty excited, too.  
But I miss you already. After dinner yesterday, I had the urge to slip from the room and see you. In our little alcove. Well...  
Hey, why don't we? Mum needs some last minute shopping done at Diagon Alley. Snatch me away at Flourish & Blott's – let's say about 2:30?  
Hope to be with you soon.  
Love,  
Albus

*** 24th December, late evening ***  
My beloved Al,  
how exactly are we going to survive the holidays without each other? (We're not, are we?)  
I still feel your warmth against my skin, your lips on mine and the hottest breath whispering into my ear. I can never look at your uncles' shop again and not think of what you did to me in that back room. Al, if you don't mind me asking, but it seems to me, you have a predilection for narrow, tiny, poorly lit rooms, do you not? Like our special broom cupboard back at Hogwarts.  
Anyways, I've been lying on my bed, trying to sleep for hours now and this is me giving in. To you. Admitting to missing you on a new level. To thinking of you all the time. To dreaming of you. Yearning for you. Wallowing in those fantasies that make my whole body ache for you. Just thinking about them makes my heart beat faster. So I'll write one down for you. I trust, you know what to do with it. It goes like this:  
You're visiting Diagon Alley, perhaps with your family. The street is crowed and nobody, not even you, notices me waiting at the crossroads of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. When you pass by, I grab your wrist, elbow, robe, anything, just to drag you into the shadows. You struggle until you recognize me. Suddenly you're all over me, kissing and scolding at the same time. Your eyes are on fire as well as your lips. Your hands. Your hips. I lead you through the alley, into a narrow hallway. Up some stairs into a barren room that has nothing in it but a dirty, cold fire place and a shabby bed. You don't care though; the door creaks shut behind us. Pulling me over to the bed. Dumping me on the dusty sheets and shredding my clothes. You push me down and ravish me. Everywhere tingles and is ablaze with our passion. Rolling around we touch, we kiss, we wrestle, we moan. You whisper harshly. Demanding everything. And now. The way you ride me renders me helpless to your touch. I couldn't care less about the noises the bed and the floor boards make beneath us when you make such delightful noises on top. You finish me off in an explosion, hardly like any other. You come all over me and sink into a messy kiss. You try drying my chest with a corner of the ruffled sheet. We rest and whisper, you caress my neck, I play with your hair until it's time to go back. One last kiss at the end of the alley and a faint smile that promises you will be back soon.  
Oh great, just look at me, getting all hard over writing a letter. And imagining how close our rendezvous today had come to this long-term favourite of mine. Anyway, it's the 25th now, so: Happy Christmas!  
With Love,  
Score

*** 25th December, very early morning ***  
My dear, crazy Score,  
I got your late night owl and will send the answer right back. Dad's and Grandpa's visit to Muggle London is set for the 27th. I asked if I could bring a friend along and they agreed. Don't know where to meet you just yet but I'll figure something out.  
I have to see you!  
Now I reckon both of us sound like either hopeless fools or drug addicts. In a way, I suppose, your love is a drug. Come and feed me some poison, I dare you.  
What dirty little daydreams I just had vanish with the sound of my brother stirring from his sleep, so I better finish this quickly and be off to bed for real.  
All the best wishes and a Happy Christmas for you and your family.  
Love & Love again,  
Al

*** 25th December, around noon ***  
What have I done? Al! What the fuck just happened?? Can you ever forgive me? I was not thinking clearly. Your smile was simply overwhelming. I am most sincerely sorry for ruining both your Christmas and several family ties. I could not help it. I acted on instinct; I can only guess. I won't apologise for the kiss, because – at that moment – it felt so right to lean down and kiss you. And you kissed me back?! Did both of us forget where we were? I didn't even realise what had happened until I stepped out of the fire place back home at the Manor.  
But I do apologise for any problems my rash foolishness has caused you and I will face the consequences.  
Please, promise me not to do anything drastic to yourself. I will be at your side, through anything, if you want me to.  
I love you, Albus.  
Always yours,  
Scorpius H. Malfoy

*** 25th December, afternoon ***  
Dearest Score,  
please, please, calm down!!! I love you, too, Score, and kissing me in front of my family won't change that. Sit down, take a deep breath and have a nice cuppa. (You know, it'll help.) No one ripped my head off or stormed out of the living room to hunt you down.  
Most of them are still sort of shocked. But let me explain from the beginning: we kissed (like a couple in one of those Muggle romance movies Rose likes to watch), we said goodbye, you Flooed back to the Manor and I (according to Hugo) turned around, grinning and blushing like the love-struck school boy that I so obviously am, then paled dramatically and stumbled to the nearest seat. Hugo thought I was going to faint and quite honestly – I sure felt like it for a few terrible minutes. Until Dad hugged me and muttered some really lovely things into my ears. Turns out, he has known about us for almost three months now. He noticed my changed behaviour when he saw us leaving the Great Hall together and hence started paying attention to us.  
Family legend has is that Dad owns an enchanted map that shows anyone anywhere (or something like that). And voilà, he put 1 and 1 together. Remember the stunt you pulled in Dad's Defence class in early October? That tipped him off for good.  
Dad's all right with it, he said, he's seen the way we act around one another.  
James was speechless (Did he really think I'd stay his innocent baby brother forever?), Lily was finally relieved of some worries concerning (again according to Hugo) my whereabouts (“It's just a secret liaison! And here I thought you were in some kind of real trouble, always sneaking off, being late, being tired and spacing out all the time!”).  
Mum... will need a wee bit getting-used-to the idea of a gay son. Uncle Ron will need some getting-used-to a Malfoy in the family and the rest has yet to make a statement.  
When I say “rest”, Score, I'm ever so so sorry! When Mum said “big family event”, I didn't think it meant any living witch and wizard of the Weasley family tree. James wasn't kidding, saying the only one who's left out is Dad's Muggle cousin (and his wife plus kids).  
Anyways, we sat down and talked it over. It'll be fine, Score. Trust me. Okay?  
By the way, Dad asked if the friend I wanted to bring along to London was you and I said “yes”, so he officially invited you to tag along. We want to meet you at the Leaky Cauldron, 10 a.m. Is that okay with you?  
Oh, and Mum insists you have dinner with us some day soon. (I reckon, she wants to get to know you. That's a good thing, isn't it?)  
Speaking of mothers, please give my best regards to your mother and be sure to thank her for the cordial invitation to have tea tomorrow.  
I'm nervous already! Are there any special rules? Should I bring a little present? Will I need dress robes? To be honest, I've never even imagined what it would be like to meet your parents. You always say, they wouldn't understand, they'd disown you or all those other nightmare you told me about. Yet, here we are, invited for tea.  
Hey, while I was throwing a fit just now, Hugo came by. (And yeah, I pause in writing sometimes, in case you were wondering.) He asks to thank you for the adorable teddy bear. He's trying not to show it – I can tell – but he is so excited about it. He carries the bear around, makes up little rhymes of that phrase “to have and to hold” you used in the enclosed gift card. (You little Muggles Studies lover, that's a phrase Muggles use in wedding vows as far as I know.)  
As I understand it, he already asked Granny to teach him some knitting techniques so he can knit a jumper and a scarf for the bear. So cute!  
And Score? Thank you so much for the lovely locket. The girls in the family are dazzled by the sparkling emeralds that are fitted into the silver pendant. The charm really works like you said it would. Every time I opened the locket, soft music starts to play, even different tunes. Why, you old romantic! But don't worry. Your secret is save with me. (Well, “us” now, since we blow our little secret.)  
And on the bright side of things: I won't have to come up with a way to tell my parents (and more distant relations) about us. So in a way, I guess, a Thank you is in order. (You may collect your prize any time and in any fashion you prefer...)  
How did your mother find out? Well, she'll tell me tomorrow, won't she?  
Oh, that's Mum calling. Apparently it's time to eat. Again!? I swear, all we do all day every day of the hols is eating! You better start thinking up some fancy ways to get me back into shape. I know you're creative like that!  
Looking forward to see you tomorrow!  
Love & Hugs  
Al

*** 25th December, evening ***  
Dear Al,  
your reassuring words lift my spirits. I'm glad, the gifts are appreciated and no immediate damage was done to both our and your family's relationships. Still. I am sorry for putting you through this. Promise to make it up to you.  
My mother found out in a more traditional way. She wrote a letter, complaining as to why my regular letters had stopped coming. When we met in Hogsmeade the next Saturday, she demanded a detailed answer. I wouldn't tell her at once, so she guessed it had to be some sort of secret, maybe a new interest that Father would not want me to indulge, perhaps some new acquaintances, and five minutes later she had deduced – just like that – I had to have a secret girlfriend. I corrected her minor misapprehension and somehow that got me talking. Mother has always been one of the very few persons I confide in. She confessed to having had certain notions about me for some time. We were relieved to find we could still share these things.  
I didn't tell you because I didn't want to put any pressure on you. Remember the discussion we had about telling our parents back in late October?  
Mother liked the framed photograph you gave me for Christmas. Some day you will have to tell me how you did it. Capturing us in a pose like that. Creevey Junior, by chance, did not have anything to do with it, would he?  
By the way, Al, it's just an informal come-on-over-have-tea-with-us, on her favourite silver service with biscuits and cucumber sandwiches, no doubt, but no need for dress robes. Why not wear the dark green jumper? You know, the one guaranteed to make me want to... You know.  
(Oh Merlin, I'll be on my knees for you before you can say “Hello Mrs Malfoy!” Please stun me before I suck you off in front of Mother, would you?)  
Please thank your father for inviting me; 10 a.m. is perfectly fine. As you know, my parents and especially my grandparents are not too eager to teach me anything Muggle-related. Grandfather nearly had a heart attack when I told them I would take on Muggles Studies for classes back in the summer before Third Year. Casually over dinner, no less.  
When Hugo's first knitted scarf for the bear turns out to be green, do tell me! I'll have to leave the country before his father hexes me seven ways from Sunday!  
Apropos green, have you see what the locket does to your eyes? Go and take a good look in the next mirror and tell me later!  
“Any time and in any fashion”? Is it just me or does that sound like winkwinknudgenudge-bedroomnow to you, too? Al. You. Little. Tease. You realise of course, what effects your words have on me. You relish the thought of me sitting at my desk, squirming in my chair, filled with desire and longing for you whilst corresponding with you? I'll have you know that yes, every time my right hand starts to shake, my left hand palms my crotch to ease the tension, to create soothing friction. I put down the quill as ink blotches are not an option for stationary with the Malfoy crest on it, and close my eyes. I lean forward onto my right elbow, spread my legs and bite my lips to keep from groaning too loudly. The left hand slips beneath the robes, the lips part again in a silent gasp, the fingertips dance lightly over my heated skin. There are images of you flashing before my tightly shut eyes, of you on your knees, of you going down on me, of you doing those wicked things to me, of your poisonous, passionate lips, of your talented, dexterous tongue, of your gifted hands, of your lovely smile and of your lewd smirk. My hardness is full on in what seem like mere seconds and I touch myself while mumbling your name. I shudder. I'm hot. I grip the edge of the desk, plant my feet firmly to the floor. I rub and pump, I moan quietly, the knuckles holding onto the desk turn white. I bent over even more, I moan louder, wank harder, nearly there, nearly done. Bite my lips again, see blinking stars, feel like exploding in my hand. And I do. The forehead drops onto the forearm, the fingers let go of the polished wood. Just a bit of rest to enjoy the aftermath, the tingling sensation, the memory of you lying spent next to me, that sated smile all over your still brightly flushed face. I take a deep breath, mutter a cleaning charm and open the room's windows wide. The winter air cools my burning cheeks, subdues the hunger for the real thing – for you, Al – just a bit. I enjoy the quiet peacefulness for a few minutes more and go back to writing.  
Or in today's case, back to planing “fancy ways” for you. I'll be -up- half the night for you because of that request. You are aware, are you not?  
I'll see you in the afternoon. Can barely wait! Maybe we'll have some time for ourselves after tea with Mother. I would like to show you around the Manor grounds. Do bring a warm cloak. On second thought though, don't. That way I'll get to warm you up. Imagine that.  
Hopelessly yours,  
Scorpius

*** 25th December, late night ***  
Score, you utter perv!  
Talk to you tomorrow.  
Love, Al  
PS: I expect a thorough report on your nightly musings. Preferably whispered heatedly into my ears, complete with those little, light kisses and nibbling and fists full of robes and hair, with sweet friction of grinding motions, the roughness in your voice when it's thick with need and arousal. A slight trembling in your hands, an uncontrolled jerk of slender hips. A possessive squeeze to the arse. An impatient warmth in your groin. A love bite on my neck, glistening with your saliva. A bead of sweat on your temple. A low growl in your throat. Tangled strands of white golden hair, loose from the black velvet ribbon. More kissing, deeper kissing. A knee between legs. Making me feel you. Letting on just how much... Tight embraces. Touches on bare skin. Tugs on the clothes. Tastes of each other. Falling off and over the edges. Shut eyes. Open mouths. Holding on. Wanting to. And lots and lots of kisses. Intoxicating. Dizzy. Affectionate fondling. Declarations. Back to whispering. Restless hands. Breathless. More, more, never stop. Close to you. Close to me. Sensations, emotions, words. A pointed glance. More kisses. Ignored stickiness. Pride in the corner of your mouth. Lazy smiles. Assuredness. Knowing. Trust. A flick of the wand. Tingling. Teasing. Back to reporting.  
Starting all over again.

*** 26th December, late night ***  
Dear Score,  
I'm back in my room. Dad just let me off the hook. Good thing, we sent that note from your private owlery at the Manor. Otherwise things might have gotten out of control back at my parents' house. See, Mum was starting to worry. At half past six. Dad was busy all evening, dodging the proverbial glared daggers and calming her hysterics. She had gone to bed before I came home and Dad obviously needed a hug and a Firewhisky. We talked for a while. He told me a couple of stories about your father and himself, back in their school days. And emphasised how both of them would never have dreamed of being in-laws some day. I told him about tea with your mother; what a lovely and understanding, nice and beautiful lady she is. (Yeah, you already noticed, I like her.) But that no other Malfoy knew about us. He promised to keep our secret safe. You can trust him; you know him. He sent me to bed after his second glass and reminded me to apologise to Mum in the morning. Like I was 6 years old, not 16. But I guess, I can see why. After all, I'm their first child to bring home someone special. They never really laid eyes on that girl James used to date.  
Thank you and many, many thanks to your mother for the brilliant afternoon. I'd like to meet her again sometime. She's so different (in a good way, of course) from all adult witches I know. Such refined manners and straight posture. Almost makes me feel like some poor farmer's kid. I can see now where you've got your stunning features and gestures from. You have her slender hands.  
The tea was fabulous. I really liked those small hexagonal biscuits. I have a thing for almonds, you see. Did I ever tell you? You taste a little bit of almonds when we share these slow and deep kisses.  
I realised today: You strut about with the posh elegance of your Grandmother's white peacocks. The proud, upright stance, the chest, the long neck. Merlin, just thinking of the way tie and shirt collar frame and encircle your neck, how I love the tender skin, love to feel it under my hungry lips.  
So... Thank you for showing me around the Manor. It's really impressive. Wonder what the gardens look like in spring or summer.  
By the way, remember back when you described your bedroom to me after I had got the first glimpse of the Slytherin common room? Good job you did there. When you showed me to your bedroom (bed chambers, really), I felt like I've seen them before, in a dream perhaps. The white wood furniture, the marble floor, the light green and grey colours. The giant hearth! The photographs on the mantle piece. Your books, the rug in front of the fire place. Be honest, Score, how many times did you dream of making love to me on that rug? I liked the huge windows. The curtains! You could hide armies of suits of armours behind them and nobody would know. They rival Hogwarts' tapestries. And the... is it even called a “bed”? One could fit half of all my cousins in there! How do you sleep in that huge thing? Well, I guess, it's habitual. Are you lonely at night, Score? Too bad, I had to go before you had a chance to teach me the real meaning of “bedroom”. On the other hand, you kinky git! That quick one at the edge of the grove. Against the rough tree trunk. Seriously Score, if I didn't know you... Oh dear, you did me real good. I can still feel your hands on me, your hot breath clouding in the cold air. I close my eyes and feel our hips rocking together. Feel the shudders your suppressed moans and needy grunts sent through my entire body. Fuck, Score, promise me, on our first weekend back at Hogwarts, we won't leave the Room of Requirement at all! Merlin, I... (will quickly finish this letter and go to bed before driving myself insane.)  
I'll see you tomorrow!  
Love,  
Al

*** 27th December, during lunch ***  
What took me so long, he asks? I was waiting for you to come after me for a little bit of snogging in the gents!  
*  
Score, you're insatiable!  
*  
You like that about me!  
*  
True. (Damn you!)

*  
Al? You think we could abscond for a while?

*  
Anyone on your family ever noticed the way your father blushes like a virgin?  
*  
WTF!? Score! WTF???

*  
Al, will you be my dessert today?

*** 28th December, morning ***  
My dear Al,  
what a fabulous day! Of course, Father was fuming when I told him where I had been yesterday. Muggle London! The scandal! He did not believe my obvious excuse of “research for Muggle Studies homework”. I think, he suspects me of having a secret girlfriend. Well, as long as he doesn't ask... He'd disown me the minute he'd learned the truth. The lovely truth of you and me. Spending a perfect day, showing Grandpa Weasley around, listening to Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, explain Muggle contraptions and traditions and watching him deal with flirtatious Muggle waitresses. Hilarious! Luncheon was superb (despite your father's poor attempt to fight off advances. Really! Defeating Dark Lords any day – faced with busty bar-maids he all but cries for help? I'll never know where you got that wicked tongue of yours from, will I?).  
I can't quite decide what I liked best: the thrill and rush of exchanging those notes on paper napkins – the tingle of your warmth against my side (You should rub my leg under the table like that more often, perhaps in class?) – or the hot, debauched gleam in your eyes when you asked if we could have dessert somewhere else and in private.  
I know I asked this before, but are you quite sure that Hat Sorted you correctly? The way you were going about “dessert” was, in fact, rather Slytherin.  
My insides sparkled like the city's Christmas lights. I enjoyed sharing that cinnamon and chocolate sauce crêpe with you very, very much. I suppose, your backside felt it, too. Let's do it again during Easter holidays, Al! I imagine a strawberry picnic in Hyde Park (was the name, wasn't it?), feeding you by hand, rolling around the grass, kissing and laughing, carefree like Muggles. Let's enjoy more of Muggle London – I feel like I have only seen a fraction of all there is to see! I want you to show me everything. And in return, I'll show you everything else. Anything really...  
Merlin, I wish, I could have stayed the night. I must admit, I was surprised to say the least when your father invited me to stay for dinner which was quite an experience in itself. I have never eaten in the kitchen before. Is it just me or does that long table of yours remind you of the Great Hall, too?  
As you can very well guess, dinner at the Manor is not that lively, so full of warm chatter and smiles and jokes and laughter.  
You won't get into trouble for skipping cleaning up afterwards, will you? Can't help but think of myself as a bad influence on you. Too late, I know, but still. I appreciated you taking me up to your room. And the fact that I barely had time to have a look around before you pushed me down and onto your bed with that sexy, almost feral expression, straddling my thighs and hips, nearly moaning yourself when you ground our groins together, growling, “Let's start something we can't possibly finish!”  
Was my needy groan as loud as it seemed to me? Your heated touches, your shaky breath, your quivering lips. The incredible friction you created. Your eyes turned midnight-emerald as you watched me come undone whilst you undid my button and fly. And I was so hard for you before your wicked fingers even touched me there. And you loved it. And I loved it. Helpless, but to jerk into your palm, to crave for the sensation only you are capable of invoking. We smothered our cries in each other's neck and throat. Dared a bit of sucking on tender skin, before sucking in breath. Gasping in pleasure. Fumbling, tugging, bucking. Chucking off clothes. Rolling around until we were both sweaty and panting. Our hands always moving, teasing, searching, caressing. We were nowhere near naked – weren't we? – when you pressed me into your duvet, face first, and took me into your eager hands again. Seeking your own relief against my thighs and bum, and Merlin, how desperately I wanted you to fuck me hard and deep just then. To feel you rub against my perineum drove me positively wild! Did you notice you bit my shoulder when you came all over my backside? And how the fuck did you manage what you did next? Kissing down my spine, laving up your cum, bathing my buttocks, sucking my needy hole like that? Downright stabbing me, making me spill myself in your hand. I have to say, I still can't remember the last time I came so hard. Your tongue is the best Cleaning Charm ever.  
All I wanted was to curl up with you and forget the rest of the world, cuddling until the small hours of the morning. Kissing you gently, enjoying your suddenly shy caresses, whispering sweet nothings to each other. Alas… I crawled into my bed as soon as I was home, imagining just that: us cuddling, and not having to get dressed again and make our way back to the Floo in the kitchen, awkwardly conscious of how well shagged both of us must have looked.  
I woke up today with your name on my lips. In an otherwise empty bed. Crushes one's spirit, really. I'd rather have your hands than mine on my morning wood.  
And then, there was Father and breakfast and more unpleasant silence than the last time I came home late. That disapproving look in his eyes makes me want to scream. Yell at him for being such a prejudiced prick, even after all that's changed since his school days. Since the War.  
At least Mother was kind enough to offer some casual conversation. I think, I'll lock myself in my room or the library to do some of our homework, just to avoid him for the day. He will be more bearable when I can boast about the finished assignments and essays. Are you willing to compare notes sometime? You're so much better at History of Magic than I am.  
Well, I'll get a cuppa now and start slaving over the books.  
Love,  
Scorpius

*** 29th December, morning ***  
Dear Score,  
having kept in mind your profound yet utterly ridiculous aversion to poor Professor Binns, I enclosed a copy of our History of Magic assignment. I expect you to thank me thoroughly for this one. Honestly, Score, one would think, with your background you'd have a little more interest in history?  
Well, anyways. Rose, Hugo and Uncle George came to visit yesterday (hence the tardy reply). The original plan was doing homework but that didn't go to well with Uncle George's idea of fun. So we ended up testing new Wheezes for him. Don't worry, nothing bad happened and nobody was injured. Much. (I'm talking about Mum's nerves here, of course!)  
Rose proposed we should meet again today to study and finally do our homework. When I dropped the hint of your expertise in both Potions and Arithmancy, Lily and Hugo were nearly begging Dad to allow you to come over, so... Would you like to? Rose and Hugo will Floo over at 2-ish. Feel free to make your appearance any time this afternoon.  
I'm trying so hard not to envision us sneaking off to some secluded corner... Bugger, too late! Why can't I stop thinking of you -that- way? Any way really?! What have you done to me? Tell me! Frankly, sometimes I think, I'm not normal – besides being Harry Potter's son and look-a-like. These feelings for and thoughts of you seem to border on obsession... Does anybody who is in love behave this way? And why do I feel like it's got more intense since hols started? Would you suppose, it's because we're away from school and everything? Surely that has to be part of it at the very least.  
As for “morning wood” and “your name on my lips”, as you put it, I must confess, I've made a habit of that nearly two years ago. Thinking back, I honestly don't know what exactly kept us from each other and our mutual feelings for so long. Did we enjoy teasing and flirting with one another so much? Well, at least, I know I did. All that air of “Is he kidding? Is he serious? Does he really mean the things he says, hints at, insinuates? What's with all the innuendoes?” and I thought – no, was scared – that was all we could ever be. That I'd deal with you and your charms, make it through school, preferably without a broken heart, and probably never see you again after graduation if I could help it. Those countless times when I told myself to get over this silly little crush. How was I supposed to know you meant every single word you said, wished for all the things to happen, wanted me the same way I wanted you; that you wouldn't care about the upcoming problems, would be prepared to make sacrifices, would live with the nightmare or your family's – your father's reaction, the secrets, the lies, the hiding, the half-truths, all of it, every day, for me.  
Writing this, I'm reminded of that (should I say “fateful”) night we spent in detention together, brewing potions yet again. I still see myself reaching for that blasted (or blessed?) piece of valerian root to pick it up from where it had landed under the table only to hit my head hard on my way back up.  
Later you reprimanded me for being so dramatic as to faint from bumping my head. Wasn't I out for merely, well, five seconds or something? Your fussing would have woken the dead, dear Scorpius. Though I have to admit, coming to in your arms rather felt like a dream come true. And then that kiss nearly had me fainting again. (I'm chuckling while writing these lines.) I seem to recall saying something afterwards, in a breathless murmur, like “Keep that up. I love you, too”, was it? More desperate kissing, then the hospital wing. Me having to stay the night because I actually had a slight concussion, you throwing a tantrum when they told you to leave, you being back in the morning, before breakfast even. You, being shy and insecure all of the sudden. You asking if I meant it last night. You confessing to me. Both of us blushing, laughing nervously and seeking each other's hand. The shaking stopping. The mattress shifting when you sat down on the edge of the bed, next to me. The kiss to my knuckles. The silence that followed. I said your name for what felt like the first time and my lips tingled like crazy. I pulled your hand close and returned the kiss. You smiled down at me in such a loving way it made my heart beat faster and my stomach flutter while your fingertips brushed my flushed cheeks. The matron interrupted us and kicked you out of the infirmary more than sending you to class before I could ask you to be my boyfriend. I was cross with her for a month, remember? When you came back, skipping lunch, and asked if I was fine, if I had eaten and if I wanted to be with you, I... all I could do was nod, shake my head and finally nod again like a madman and pull you down into a tight hug. We ended up sharing my lunch tray that day and everything else since.  
Oh dear, when did this letter get so maudlin? However, my manly dignity remains intact as I didn't start crying, drawing little hearts or something equally embarrassing.  
Have fun with my essay! I won't get my hopes up for the afternoon, but rest assured that I'll be happy beyond words if you could somehow manage to make it work. In regards to your father and your situation with him, I all but feel bad for inviting you over.  
Taking a couple of deep breaths I finish this letter and hopefully my little moment of anxiety, too.  
One more thing though:  
Score, I love you. With all my heart – Albus

*** 30th December, after breakfast ***  
My dear, devious, insatiable, hopeless, sexy, beloved Albus who sleeps like the dead and can't be woken up by a simple kiss or even more sometimes...  
On the other hand, there is the part of me that just loves to watch you sleep, hold you close, bask in your warmth, bathe in the sound of your breathing and get drunk on your intoxicating scent. Observing how dawn and rising morning sun paint the colours back into your peaceful face. Sometimes the sun is not the only one rising at that hour. But I behaved myself today. Thanks to James.  
He came knocking and invited me to have breakfast with your family when I was about to slip my hand between your thighs. Usually you wake up to my fist closing around your length. Still half hard you'd cling to me, whimper the sweetest sounds and cum so hard that you'd fall right back into comfortable, deep slumber. Or you'd press your tight little arse into my loins, rut against my prick and my hands, never getting enough. I like those times when you're vocal without any inhibition. So hot. Those orgasms leave me dizzy. However not today!  
I dressed and had a lovely meal with your parents and siblings. Your father is simply brilliant. He was so kind and understanding. We talked almost like old friends or like I'd been his son-in-law for at least twenty years. Your mother seems to come around, too. I told her, I do not share my family's opinion in the Malfoy/Weasley feud. Never understood where that bollocks came from in the first place or why it should even be an issue anymore. Really, not even Grandfather Lucius could tell me where the stupid idea originated. I think, she appreciates my views. She also asked why we still end up in detention, so I told them about our grand ambitions. Of course, I had to elaborate. You on the other hand know the whole story about our dear Potions Professor and her funny book, “Potions for Detentions. Useful Recipes for Delinquents and Troublemakers”, containing sorely potions that need three to four hands for brewing, and our little goal of brewing each and every concoction in those pages. James laughed so hard he almost fell off the bench and your father shook his head disbelievingly. Muttered something about how anyone would voluntarily spend time in front of a cauldron.  
I tried to wake you after breakfast but you wouldn't so much as turn around. So I decided to leave you a little note. Your small desk is a welcome change from those oaken or mahogany monstrosities at the Manor. I wanted to thank you for having me over yesterday and letting me spend the night. In your bed. On my back. With you in my arms. It would have never been possible if it weren't for Father's sudden business meeting in France. Lucky us! Like I said last afternoon, Mother knows and promised not to tell. So, Albus, let me thank you with words as we had actions last night: Thank you for welcoming me into your home, into your family and into your heart in a whole new way. Thank you.  
Now! Let's see if I can wake you up now.  
S.

*** 30th December, afternoon ***  
Guess what I found on my desk today, dear Score! I noticed your letter upon returning to my room after seeing you off at the Floo. What a lovely letter. And, by the way, you're welcome. It's a bit unfair that I can open my heart and home so easily while you have to consider and double-check every step. Still, I'd rather have you alive and healthy, so there.  
You were quite right, Score, yesterday afternoon was wonderful. (Don't get me started on the night! I can still feel you! And my pillow smells of you. Can't get enough!) I liked the part where poor, little Hugo had lost his patience with the Potions essay and vented his frustrations on our old piano. You should have seen your face, Score! When Hugo tickled the ivories you all but stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed. What a mundane expression! Almost “plebian”. I didn't know your fine face could do that.  
It was the piano sonata no. 11 by a Muggle composer named Mozart, Hugo's favourite, in case you'd like to know. Little Hugo is quite talented, isn't he? Aunt Hermione is so proud of him. It was her who introduced Hugo to the piano in the first place. Family rumour has it, she had also tried with Uncle Ron – but he was useless.  
Did I honestly never tell you about Hugo's love for music? How on earth did that slip my mind?! On second thought, don't answer that. I'm blushing without your help here, thank you very much. Too bad you missed his impromptu concert on Christmas Eve. Such lovely music. He had our mums and several others reduced to tears. And since I can just hear you asking, no, not me though. Sorry to disappoint. But you see. I was busy daydreaming about a certain boyfriend of mine while listening; you know, the handsome blond with the pointy chin, surely you've met him.  
If you're interested, I'm pretty sure I can talk Hugo into a private demonstration of his skills. Prof. Flitwick lets him use the “resident concert grand” at Hogwarts. However not without regrets. Hugo mostly plays Muggle pieces. Which I tend to blame more on dear old Grandpa than on his mum.  
Does anyone in your family play an instrument? I don't think you told me – then again, we never had “music” for a topic of conversation, did we?  
Onto my next question! Yes, I'm pretty curious today, aren't I? It's New Year's Eve tomorrow and I keep wondering what New Year's at the Manor was like. At some point in early December you mentioned something along the lines of “a rather big event”. What's a simple bloke such as myself to expect? Surely the ladies of the Manor will lay on something rather posh and fancy? I can just imagine it: enchanted snow outside all over the gardens, a ball room alight with floating candles and alive with chatter and music and the sound of ruffling robes, wizards and witches dancing in the centre or talking at the side lines, a flute of expensive champagne in one hand. A highly festive atmosphere, canapés and mini-quiches for snacks, older gentlemen discussing the past and the coming year, sitting in arm chairs near the huge fire place, Firewhisky on the side table. A pair of lovers sneaking off into a dark alcove, deserted hallway or empty room for a clandestine tryst.  
Enlighten me, Score! You never pass an opportunity to crush my Muggle influenced, naïve-bordering-on-girlishly-romantic illusions.  
Mum says, we'll have Teddy, Granny Andromeda and some Weasleys over. An as of yet not predictable number of Weasleys, I might add. Then again, after Christmas Day, no amount of ginger hair should pose a challenge for you, ey Score? Mum's also buzzing with energy for the preparations. She has sent James to buy groceries and run some last-minute errands. Lily is downstairs to help Mum cleaning up the place. Before you complain that life is unfair and should have me do something useful as well, I'll have you know that I was appointed kitchen helper to assist Mum later today. She said, with all the Potions practice I'd got (Thank you!) fixing a few snacks wouldn't be too difficult. In that infamous Don't-even-try-to-disagree-with-me-tone. Dear Merlin... What those words will do to me! I can see myself, bent over the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables and waiting for the cauldron to explode or for you to say something to make me laugh or blush or anticipating a teasing touch. I had better have a nice wank before going downstairs, wouldn't you agree? Can't go around the house, sporting a blush and a hard-on. I'm contemplating lying back onto my desk, imagining it to be our working table in the Potions class room, spreading my legs for you, careful to mind the fire and the cauldron above it (or rather the picture frames and stacks of books on my desk). I'd close my eyes, shove the parchments and quill off the table top and welcome your lewd fingers into my arse, marvelling at the way you know how to touch me to make me want to scream your name and swear with words that would have Mum faint and beg you to do things to me that would make Dad's blush stay on his face for a fortnight. Or even longer when you curl your fingertips upwards, just so, inside me. You'd downright massage that spot while sucking at my throat or pinching my nipples. I'd cant my hips to give you easier access, wanting to draw you in, wanting you harder and deeper and “Just like that!” and “Right there!” and generally to finger-fuck me into oblivion. You'd make a show out of licking my cum off my heated skin as soon as I'd open my eyes and I'd groan at the sight and the twitch my spent prick would give.  
You're as hard and needy now as I am, aren't you? Tell me, Score, make me cum over your handwriting like I almost hope I do you with this letter.  
I wish, I could take you to London tomorrow and show you the Muggle fire works at midnight. Maybe next year?  
Love,  
Al  
PS: Noticed the improved script on the last paragraph? Oh, Score, put that dirty smirk off your face. I know you know me. And yes, I did shove the frames and my Charms text off the desk and bit the heel of my hand to muffle your name. Have to say, I prefer the old school tables to my desk – more spacious.

*** 31st December, around lunch ***  
Albus Potter. You. Little. Minx.  
You want me to wank over your letters? And you're telling me now? Now?! After a week of (almost) feeling bad for doing it and barely remembering in time to not shoot my load all over your letters? Now you're telling me, it's all right to press the parchment you wrote on to my cheeks and chest? To keep at least an envelope underneath my pillow (opting it safer for the letters to be hidden somewhere safe, just in case...) in hopes of dreaming about you? Now you tell me! Albus, mark my words, I'll get you back for this. (On your back, most likely.)  
Yes, I miss the sight of you bent over and chopping. Such fond memories! I think, I like you best, sprawled out on or bent over a table. Yes, definitely my favourite. Whereas you up against a wall, tree or book shelf in the Restricted Section is a very nice and much appreciated alternative. Which reminds me of the other night in the library when I sucked you off so vigorously, you didn't know where to put your hands and finally got them tangled up in the chains that are meant for the books. Oh, the sweet sound of your gasping mingled with the soft clinking of the chains.  
Rest assured, if I could have been there with you in the kitchen yesterday I would have bent you over that counter and snogged you silly – not even caring if your mother was in the room, too! (So you better be grateful, I wasn't. We wouldn't want to risk me losing very important “bits” of myself.)  
Allow me one last remark to the naughty topic: I love your handwriting! It's like your face; when read correctly, it'll tell me everything about you. And “arousal” is one of the first words I learnt to read in both of them.  
As for New Year's: You are in fact not that far off the mark. What you described was basically how it was done when Grandfather was our age. Oh the decadence. However, times change and sometimes people do, too. There was the War, of course, and years of timid social activity. It's actually sort of recent – maybe 5 to 7 years – that the Manor has guests at New Year's Eve again. Mother has a predilection for the “old days and ways” (as she likes to put it) and Grandfather overindulges her at times.  
This year's ball even has a motto. “Hidden Glances” - a masquerade ball! Dress code requires dress robes and a mask to cover the upper half of one's face. A bit delicate in my opinion if you keep in mind certain details about certain family members' pasts. (Per usual my grandparents and Denial have a strange ménage-à-trois. Nobody dared mentioning anything...)  
I dearly wish, I could spend the evening with you. I really don't feel up to dancing with giggling girls and frail, older ladies the whole night long. Grandmother will surely set me up with some pure-blood girl (“eligible young lady” Ha. Ha.) for dinner and I'll have to fake polite interest for endless, mindless hours! I'd rather party under the night sky, hidden from pure-blood eyes amongst the drunken and jaunty masses of celebrating Muggles. I'd like to hold you close, taste your salty skin, get drunk myself on your kisses and touches, dance to whatever Muggle music is playing, kiss you passionately while everybody else is doing the countdown and yell “I love you, Albus Potter!” into your ear at midnight precisely, over the sound of deafening cheers and fireworks. Celebrate and dance into the wee hours of the morning, make love to you for the first time in the new year and fall asleep in your arms.  
I wish for the daydreams and fantasies to be true so desperately I'm afraid I'll get depressed. Grandfather will have my head if I so much as sneak off to my room tonight (he made himself very clear on that after breakfast). As if I would dare to hurt Mother's feeling like that. Won't stop me from locking myself in the library until the very last possible minute. After a long, calming walk back from the owlery.  
The ball will be splendid. Your eyes would sparkle like emeralds in the sun, I'm sure, and your laughter would lighten up the entire ball room if you were here tonight. If you were here tonight... You'd say, you were dreaming, wouldn't you? I most certainly am right about now. I'd be so incredibly incapable of keeping my feelings from showing! I couldn't help but drag you into the middle of the dance floor, spin you around, scoop you up, pull you indecently close, grope your perfect arse and move with you in such a salacious manner that the gentlemen would choke on their drinks and the ladies would faint from rapidly pounding hearts, kiss you, nuzzle your hair and neck, listening to you purr into my ear “Be careful, Score, or you just might get me off while waltzing – again!” and in general forget the world and everybody in it except for the two of us. What a disaster that would be! The scandal! Father and my grandparents! No,... no, no, no! I heave a heavy sigh. But a boy can dream. This boy does. Oh, how he does.  
I miss you, Al. I never thought I'd say, “I can't wait for the hols to end and school to start again!” out loud. But here I go...  
I miss you.  
I want to see you again before the train ride back to school. Whenever you can spare a few hours for me is fine with me.  
Hopelessly Yours,  
Score

*** 31st December, during the dinner's main course ***  
S! Beware the Lion!  
– A. 

*** 1st January, evening ***  
To my overbold-bordering-on-completely-mad Lion!  
As you can judge by receiving this letter, I am very much alive and fairly well despite your concerns earlier today. Father was waiting (I daresay, lurking!) and practically ambushed me at the Floo. They, Father and Grandfather, lectured me on the various meanings of “discretion” and “safe”, how my behaviour “puts all of us at risk” and what I thought would happen if the Prophet got wind of “the things” I did. “Livid” does not even begin to describe it. Two and a half hours later Mother saved me. “Do you all grown up wizards not remember what it was like to be sixteen?” she said sternly and Father just blanched like being suddenly, violently sick and Grandfather just babbled on about “indecent” and “inappropriate” and “improper” and “not Malfoy”. Mother hauled me out of Father's study to talk privately in her personal drawing room. We sat down, she poured tea, served my favourite biscuits and more or less demanded to know what had happened after she saw us leave via Floo. Well, what could I say but the truth? That I had the most wonderful, albeit utterly mental(!), boyfriend I could ever ask for! I must have grinned like a fool. She chuckled and wanted me to tell her the whole story. So I did. I told her about my complaints and your little warning note. (Charming, by the way, made perfect sense in hind sight.) How you managed to kidnap me from right under the noses of no less than five young ladies (but not before asking my Grandmother -of all people!- if she would “happen to know where I was to be found”), waltzing with me not once but twice around the entire room before beating a hasty and seemingly haphazard retreat to the Leaky Cauldron, the landlady of which and her husband are friends with your father. How we changed into Muggle clothes you had stored there beforehand. It was then that I realised you must have spent half a day planning and organizing this adventure. How we rode the Muggle underground trains and ended up in the centre of Muggle London half an hour to midnight. Here I launched into a detailed description of the atmosphere of the scene and everything; how great and incredibly freeing it all felt, to be there, to be myself, to be with you! How you coaxed me to do what I had dreamed of only hours before! That I still feel a little giddy from shouting my love for you on top of my lungs and the ensuing kiss. (Honestly, her face! As if she was reading a romance novel. All dreamy. It made me blush so brightly you would have doubled over with laughter!) That Harry Potter sends his regards, having spent the night at your Place (Yes, you noticed my little pun with the “P” there, did you?); of course, I didn't go into detail about that although Mother had actually asked for some! Imagine me spluttering about, flailing for words. “Mother! I shan't discuss my sex life with you!”  
She pouted behind her tea cup until I said that last night was perfect and to die for. (Trust me, Al, I nearly did!) I enthused over waking up next to you, surrounded by your scent and love and with those wonderful events still fresh in my mind. Once I had finished Mother had the nerve to ask a bunch of questions. We talked for nearly four hours! I know I said it before, last night and in the morning, but Albus, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Don't get me wrong – I still think it was a rash and unreasonable idea. What if Father had- I don't want to imagine all kinds of things that could have happened.  
And yet, Albus, it was a most splendid night. I still feel flushed and like I was flying without a broom. Your kisses, Albus, your hands. Your sense of adventure will be my undoing. My early grave.  
Speaking of, how was the family trip to Godric's Hollow? Are you alright? Surely, it's sort of a kick in the teeth to have to visit your grandparents' graves the day after such a joyous night. I can't help but feel sorry for you. Is there anything I can do for you? Hey,... sit back, close your eyes and imagine my arms around your shoulder, drawing you in and holding you close. My breath on your neck. Your arms around my waist. Your weight against my chest. That usually calms you down. If you need to...  
Al, what did we do to deserve to have found each other and the kindness and acceptance of your family? Your father actually invited me to come along today. It was the hardest thing to decline his offer. I'm so sorry, Al! I wish, I could have been there with you, for you. Yet Father... in fact, I'm surprised he didn't hex me. He said, I had better not leave the Manor until the 6th. Like a grounded Muggle kid. Only he didn't use that word. I have half a mind to parade down Diagon Alley, wearing Grandmother's undergarments, just to spite him. Maybe I will. The thought cheers me up somewhat.  
I reckon, I'll bury myself in a textbook now since “someone” hoards the Firewhisky in their warded study. Just kidding! Relax Al! I'm not that desperate. (Yet...)  
See to it that you write back as soon as possible. I miss you so very much!  
Yours,  
Scorpius

*** 2nd January, late morning ***  
Dear Score,  
did you hear my sigh of relief all the way to Wiltshire? Thank Merlin! Neither disinheritance nor bloodshed! I'm so glad you have your mum. I couldn't sleep at night knowing you had no allies at home at all. It's good to know you're cared for and have someone to talk to. A bit like me and Dad. Not that we ever talked about bedroom stuff. There was one really very odd evening in 4th Year when Dad seemed to gather himself to give me some kind of… “Talk”. I remember nearly choking on my pumpkin juice. Of course, I interrupted his (obviously rehearsed) little speech at once. Still creeps me out! There are more than enough topics I'd rather discuss with Dad than this one.  
A couple of months after James turned 12 our dear godbrother Teddy took us out and told us about... adult entertainment and ways to start a family. James had asked him about it. At first, I didn't think Teddy would answer because Mum had warned him to stick to “appropriate topics for children” (not that he ever cares as soon as she leaves the room), but he did. Imagine the three of us slouching on his couch, eating ice-cream and talking. James' favourite day of his life. I remember his eyes (and cheeks) lightening up when Teddy got out the “magazines” like it was yesterday. I had never seen him like that before. And then he made Teddy explain why he had magazines of both girls and boys and guess what I suddenly understood about myself. So, who “talked” to you?  
Four hours? Somehow a picture of your mother being back at Hogwarts and having a slumber party with her girls in the dorms conjured itself up in my mind. You know, with loads of too sweet tea and giggling and gossiping and teaching each other make-up charms. And you right in their midst. Sorry about that!  
Score, I told you that night and I'm telling you again: I knew the risks I took, kidnapping you like I did. It may sound crazy but I would have stood up to your father. I would have taken all the blame. Would have asked for his permission and promptly ignored him, had he said “no”. I just had to do something. You sounded so miserable in your letter. And should our adventure sprout any after-effects I stand fast in my intentions. I love you, Scorpius!  
What we did to deserve one another? Hm, let me think. I seem to recall that little exchange of notes during Potions in the second week of September, just after school started. Your fellow Slytherins had picked on you in the hallway before class and called you names, “pillow biter” was one of them. So I wrote this note to you when our dear Professor had turned to write on the board. At the time I felt really weird for wanting to cheer you up. “They just envy you because they don't have pillows with lovely, kinky bite marks on them!” and I did a small doodle of a pillow beneath the words. When you wrote back, you had added bite marks to the picture. “Want me to bite your pillow then?” I remember blushing furiously and grinning back at you over the work benches between us. And your face as I answered, “Make it past the common room and I'll consider a reward that involves pillows!” The look you gave me then sent shivers down my spine. I wanked to the memory of that look, twice that day alone. And you've kept that piece of parchment in your textbook for months; besides calling me “Pillow” for the rest of the week.  
I guess my parents, Dad in particular, are just that way, kind and accepting.  
The trip was alright. I guess. I spent most of it talking to Teddy while James was sulking for having to come in the first place and Lily and Mum were busy cuddling up against Dad to comfort him. It's usually Dad's sadness that makes me sad whenever we visit Godric's Hollow. I never knew them and never missed them the way Dad does. Same goes for James and Lily. Teddy is too much of a show-off to let on how much he's affected by it. He's lost his parents way too early, too. So, please don't worry about me. I'm fine. As fine as I can be without you these days anyway.  
Hold that thought about parading in the streets. I think, there's a Muggle event during summer if you're so keen! Just let me do a bit of research for further information.  
Are you still eager to rebel against your father? Here's your chance: Upon returning from Godric's Hollow Uncle Bill and Cousin Louis fire-called. It's Louis' 17th birthday on the 4th and we're all invited. That includes you, too, I specifically asked. So, Score, you are hereby invited to join me in Diagon Alley tomorrow (Say, 11 at Flourish & Blott's?) for present hunting (because after Christmas morning at the Burrow nobody was thinking of Louis' big birthday – we are such lousy cousins!) and to accompany me to the party the day after tomorrow. Meet me (and the rest of the Potters) at my place at sixish and we'll Floo to Shell Cottage together. Don't even think for a minute that I'll let go of you for one second! (Except maybe for the loo or getting drinks.)  
Hope to see you soon & lots of kisses!  
Al

*** 2nd January, late evening ***  
Dearest Pillow!  
Sorry, no time to explain just how a certain Mr. M. is making his only son go bonkers. Talked to Mother though. She told Father she'll take me to Diagon Alley tomorrow to “keep her company”. We'll have to take her for a treat at Fortescue's to thank her properly. So, I/we'll see you tomorrow!  
I love you!  
S.

*** 3rd January, evening ***  
Dearest Al,  
you are the cutest wizard ever with whipped cream on your nose! I would have licked it right off if it had not been for Mother's presence. So I just wiped it off with my fingers. What I could have done to you just by sucking the cream off my fingers. I'm referring to the “butter beer foam incident” here, of course. So much fun at the Hog's Head that Hogsmeade weekend in November, ey Al? Just you wait and see what I've got in store for you next time we're at Fortescue's! (And alone.)  
Mother was downright swooning over the outfit we've got for me today. Who would have thought that a pair of Muggle trousers would make my refined Mother say, “If you were not my son, I'd be a drooling mess on the floor!” Granted, it's a rather sexy, snug pair of black leather trousers. You have a way of accentuating my best qualities, don't you, Al? I'm sensing self-interest and ulterior motives here. You were having your Five-minutes-of-Slytherin when you asked me to try those trousers on, weren't you? Did you get off to me in leather yet? Don't hold back on my account. I'll indulge myself in a little sex-in-the-changing-room fantasy as soon as I'm in the shower!  
Bamboozled by my new outfit Mother has agreed to cover for me tomorrow. For all intents and purposes Mother and I are going to visit an old school friend of hers. Is it fine with you and your parents, me bringing Mother over? She'll Apperate to her friend's house from London.  
All those lies are making me nauseous. I can't wait to get my Apparition licence! And my own flat. Of course, Father expects me to work in the family's business and I reckon that's a comfortable and easy start but I'll be damned if I have to stay in the Manor one more day than strictly necessary.  
Albus? You know... I've been thinking, if we're both still alive by the end of next school year, maybe – if you want to that is – we could look for a flat together? As in a flat for both of us? Perhaps, it's too early to think about such things, but... What do you say?  
Are you quite sure that Celestina Warbeck's autobiography is an adequate birthday present for a 17 year old wizard? Even if it is a signed copy. That includes a record of the best songs. I'm not questioning your judgement here, but it seems rather odd to me.  
Regarding your last letter: That note is kept quite safe with its mates and big brothers (your letters). Of course, I shall stick to my big words and sink my teeth into your pillow the next chance I get. Be sure to fluff the pillows in your dorm as well. “Making it past” your common room won't be much of an obstacle anymore, now that half its residents know me as your boyfriend. As for that promised reward: how about you help me get out of my robes? Especially with the bothersome shirt – maybe you could lift it a bit? I'd like that!  
Do you suppose our way to deal with such things is awkward?  
Your parents are bloody brilliant, you know that?!  
This Muggle event sounds thrilling! Please do look it up. I'd like to know more about it!  
Awaiting your quick note and tomorrow with impatience,  
Love,  
Scorpius

*** 3rd January, late evening ***  
Hey Score! Dad says OK. Your mum is very welcome. Good night & See you soon. Al

*** 4th January, early afternoon ***  
Dear Score,  
you do remember Dad and the busty waitress? Well. The prospect of your Lady Mother coming over sort of makes Dad way more nervous. No idea why. Breakfast was a near-desaster. I've never seen scrambled eggs this burnt in my life! Mum teases him mercilessly about it. Said, she'd have to revise that Enervate spell, in case Dad's gonna faint. James fled in the general direction of Teddy's apartment.  
I lay awake half the night re-reading those lines. Scorpius, yes, I'd love to go flat-hunting with you! You asking me to move in with you – Oh Merlin, it makes my heart beat faster! Literally! I suppose, it's rather early to decide something like that but we'll have another year and a half to rethink. Not that I believe we need to, judging by how things are going.  
I even dreamed about it. You, me, the living room floor, between the moving boxes, the door to the bedroom that has no bed yet, the window sill in the kitchen, the couch that's supposed to go into the living room but was somehow left in the hallway. Us, sweaty, out of breath, but not too knackered to shag just yet. Me calling your name over and over and over again. You joking that we'll be the Potters with the odd given names one day. Me gasping, “Yes!” You cuming right then and there. Me following suit. You curling around me. Me shouting at the door for Teddy to shut up with the newly weds jokes.  
If things get worse at the Manor, you are always welcome to stay with me and the family here in London or even at Teddy's apartment. Did you know that Dad's godfather who happened to be a cousin of your grandmother left his house at the age of 16? He lived with Grandpa James until graduation.  
Louis' present is perfect! Let's just say that Grandma Molly finally managed to convince one of her many grandchildren of the fine art that is music by Madame La Warbeck. Christmas will never be the same. Next thing to happen is Louis either starting to wear his sisters' clothes or presenting a boyfriend to the family. I feel it in my guts!  
Remind me to ask the Room of Requirement for whipped cream next time. And no, I don't think it's awkward. It's our way to cope with nasty things. There are so many more dangerous or stranger ways to deal with shit, like drinking or violence. I think we're doing fine. And we will be. I'm sure!  
I had better go, check on Dad...  
Give my compliments to your mum! Can't wait to see you. Soon!  
Love you,  
Al

*** 5th January, afternoon ***  
My dear Albus,  
how does it feel to date the hottest bloke in Wizarding Britain? (According to your rather buoyant cousins, at least.) Quite exciting, I daresay. But first things first: Mother asked me to pass on her thanks to your parents for their hospitality. And don't ever tell her said the following, but I got the impression she thought your father absolutely adorable for all the blushing and embarrassed mumbling. It's not something she can enjoy with Father, now is it. I don't even know what it takes to rise this particular kind of colour into his cheeks. I admit, I was wondering if his face was even capable of flushing. Not that yours has any difficulties!  
I wish, you could have seen your face through my eyes last night. All hot and flushed and smiling brightly – damnit, Albus, you would have creamed your pants. I know I did. Several times over the course of the evening and night. But, yeah, you did notice. What with being the cause and all. Why didn't you tell me Muggle music had lyrics like a lot of those songs did? I could have shagged you to sexy words and wild beats ages ago! Don't deny it, Albus, you knew most of the songs. I saw. You were mouthing the lyrics. While dancing close to me, in my arms. I felt your lips move against my jaw, my ear. Fuck, Al, some of those lines had me nearly losing my grip (And spunk. And consciousness.) I mean, I knew you to be a tease but your performance yesterday took the word “tease” to a whole new level. I can't get the pictures out of my head, Al! Can't shake off the feeling of your burning body pressed up to mine and the tempting rocking of your hips, the tantalizing grinding of your perfect little butt. Damn, Al, you just may have hooked me up to the worst kind of drug and now I'm addicted. I want to feel you like that again, Albus! Full of love and joy and badly hidden arousal – but in front of everybody. No more secretive slipping from the room but kissing you passionately right there in the middle of the hall, for everybody to see! Have them cheering and laughing and calling “Get a room, love birds!” Because it's all right to love you like this and show it like this. Not caring, not bothering, just loving you and all that it entails.  
I planned on spending the rest of the day packing and while doing so, getting distracted with thoughts of you. Another cold and lonely night to go and then we're back at school. Do you suppose your siblings would mind if I stole you away during the train ride? I feel like the muscles in my arms keep telling – more like yelling at – me to wrap my arms around you. A thick book or a soft pillow is not an adequate substitute. Nothing could ever be. I miss your warmth, your wandering hands, your loving gaze, your lips – whatever they're doing – and I long to feel you beneath my fingertips.  
Tomorrow 11 o'clock cannot come fast enough. I reckon, waiting is as hard for you as it is for me. I'd like to relieve your tension. I know just the way you like it, don't I? To make you sigh, to make you groan, gasp, on occasion even curse or scream.  
Merlin, I feel like going insane without you! I'll never let you go, ever; I hope, you know that. I love you!  
After sending this letter I'll take a quick nap. I feel so exhausted. Mind you, that's probably the result of last night. Or more to the point the lack thereof. My insatiable darling. Can you read the fond smile in these three words? Taking me home at half past four in the morning to debauch me for another two hours, only to wake me up sometime after nine. With your lips between my legs, you greedy nuisance! How is it even possible? How can you make me go and come again? How could I ever tell you to stop? I know, I couldn't. After these holidays I'd bet anything, you couldn't either. You're as crazy about me as I am about you.  
Speaking of crazy, in a creepy but adorable way in this case. Do you have any idea of what your little cousin Hugo told me? Hugo made himself perfectly clear that, should I hurt you in any way, I would wish he'd use Unforgivables on me because what he'll do to me will be so unimaginably much, much worse than any of those three curses. How does he even know these things? Should you be concerned? Anyway, I assured him not to worry, I'd do anything for you. Then he had the nerve to laugh, slap me on the back and welcome me into the family once again. (And this is the kid whom I gave a stuffed bear to for Christmas??) You came back with our drinks right after that.  
The way you sucked on that straw... Oh my-  
Hugo also did “feel compelled to point out that” (quoting here) the way you danced with James and Teddy was “too hot and too sexy to be legal” (another quote). Ask yourself, dear Albus, where does your twelve year old cousin pick up these phrases? I have to admit, however, he was quite right. You were a sight to behold, sandwiched between your brothers. You naughty bunch of Potters!  
Oh well, Grandmother just requested my presence for the last tea before school recommences, so I'll make this quick.  
I love you, Al!  
See you tomorrow!  
Yours,  
Scorpius

*** 5th January, late evening ***  
Dear Score,  
are you feeling quite alright? Your letter was disturbingly chaotic. And rather distracting, I might add. Picture a lewd smirk here.  
I finished packing just before dinner. Mum and Dad took us out to a cozy little Muggle restaurant. I'm pretty sure you'd love the place. I'll take you next time!  
Now I'm sitting in Dad's study (without him knowing) instead of sleeping in my bed, but I just couldn't let your letter go unanswered. Because me, too, Score – I can't wait for tomorrow either. James teased me about it half the day. I'll get him back tomorrow when I thrust my tongue down your throat and enjoy both your moaning and his gagging noises. That'll be fun!  
Till then, I'll fantasise about your lips and hands and everything else about you! I love you, Score!!  
I'll find you on the platform tomorrow.  
Always yours,  
Al

*** 6th January, early morning ***  
Dear Al, I'll wait for you to find me. Score

*** 6th January, a few of minutes after 11 o'clock ***  
Fancy a walk down the train's corridor? Al  
*  
The corridor full of people still looking for a compartment? S.  
*  
Well, you'll just have to do it here!  
*  
Do what exactly?  
*  
Oh, you know, the usual. Hold me, touch me, kiss me like the train was about to depart. Love you. Al

***

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks, lots of love and a huge Edible Arrangement for my beta-reader, Kai.  
> Please feel free to point out mistakes as English is not my first language.  
> Thanks for reading!


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